


leave you lonely

by Squishychickies



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Agent 37, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick misses his family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homesickness, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sort Of, Spyral (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishychickies/pseuds/Squishychickies
Summary: "I didn't want to be a spy, anyways," Dick confided in M, as M pulled the needle through the wound and slowly, deftly, stitched it shut. "I want to go home."---Dick hates being a spy. All he wants is to go home, but that isn't an option.He turns to Midnighter.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 101





	leave you lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! I feel like there's not enough Agent37!Dick out there.
> 
> Takes place during Grayson. I always thought the side characters in that comic were literally superb (like come on we've got Tiger who I am literally in love with, Midnighter who is like straight up the coolest person in DC, Helena who is an absolute badass, and the Skullgirls who are legitimately so relatable and adorable) and I've always low-key shipped Dick and Midnighter. Especially since it's canon that Midnighter was at least physically attracted to him, and it's hinted that in order to get help on a mission, Dick seduced him. 
> 
> Soooooo, yeah.
> 
> I'd planned on adding more with Tiger (because like I said, love of my life and all that) but I didn't get around to it. So maybe I'll add another chapter that involves him. Who knows.
> 
> title from Yellow Eyes by Rayland Baxter

There is a visitor at Midnighter's apartment. That's never happened before. In fact, M didn't even know it was a possibility, what with the way his apartment exists simultaneously in every city and no city at all, and is accessible only through a specialized portal. It's so unprecedented, so thoroughly unexpected, that M knows instantly there is only one person it could be.

"I swear to God, Grayson, if you bleed on my carpet again--"

"Midnighter! What's up, bro?" Dick Grayson, the man of the hour, interrupts M's angry warning, shooting him finger guns and a dazzling grin. He is, in fact, bleeding on the carpet. Asshole. "Just the guy I was hoping to see. Here. In your apartment."

It's a moment before he can respond. The whole situation is kind of taking Midnighter aback, although really he supposes it shouldn't--it's happened before. The only difference is that last time, he'd invited Dick. Not woken up to the sound of a Door unceremoniously depositing his unwelcome ass into the middle of his living room.

Well. Not to say Dick Grayson's ass is ever unwelcome--just unexpected.

The last time Dick had visited M's apartment, M had been working with Dick and his partner, Tiger, on a Spyral mission--an endeavor he had been less than enthusiastic about. Under Minos, M had utterly despised Spyral and everything they stood for. But he'd agreed to help because now that Matron Bertinelli is the director, M... does not precisely _like_ Spyral, but opposes them less vehemently. Which means that if ever there is something to gain by working with them, M is game.

When the thing he might gain is Dick Grayson? _All aboard the Spyral train!_ M's got VIP tickets, bitch. He's ready to fucking _go._ He's been attracted to Grayson since the moment he saw him, and once he'd discovered that he used to be Nightwing, it had only taken one Google Images search for his attraction to grow from a low-key, _he's cute,_ sort of situation to a full-blown obsession. 

M will be honest: it's the looks--the way he looks while fighting, particularly--that draw him to Dick. But that's okay. Midnighter's not really interested in a long-term relationship, and even if he was it probably wouldn't be with Grayson. Luckily, he suspects that feeling is mutual. Altogether, the factors add up to mean Grayson is the perfect candidate for a casual, no-strings-attatched fling. And if working with Spyral, even temporarily, is what's gonna make that happen? Full steam ahead, baby.

So the last time Dick had visited his apartment, M had been helping him and Tiger out on a case, and despite his badass moves, Dick had taken a painful-looking sword to the shoulder. Opening up a Door to his apartment had been M's first instinct. Wiping the blood away and stitching him up had come naturally as well.

They didn't hook up that night. It wasn't that M didn't want to--he really, really did--but he wasn't about to take advantage of Dick while he was injured and depending on him. Dick had looked so sad that night.

"I didn't want to be a spy, anyways," he confided in M, as M pulled the needle through the wound and slowly, deftly, stitched it shut. "I want to go home."

M had looked into his eyes and seen it was the truth--then he'd looked away again, because he wasn't there for feelings. That wasn't the type of relationship he was ready for. It wasn't the type of relationship he wanted.

And now it's happening again, apparently. Life is odd like that. You never really know when to expect a normal day, and when to expect Dick Grayson breaking into your inter-dimensional apartment.

"How'd you even get in here?" asks Midnighter, crossing the room to kneel beside Dick. He grabs his shoulder to steady him.

Dick shifts so that the bloodstain he's left on the clean carpet is hidden by his body. "I came from the God Garden," he explains. "Don't even ask what I was doing there. You don't want to know."

Midnighter rolls his eyes. "Damn right, I don't," he agrees. "Now, who stabbed you this time?"

"I didn't get _stabbed,"_ Dick asserts, as if the assumption is totally ridiculous. "I got shot."

He shifts slightly, and moves his hand away from where it had been pressed against his calf. His palm is red with blood. So is the fabric of his pants, and the skin that's visible through the hole ripped through them by the bullet. Sure enough, what's revealed is a bullet wound, red and painful-looking, in Dick's lower leg.

M wants to facepalm. "You idiot," he says, standing. He needs to get the medical supplies from the bathroom. 

"Tiger's gonna sue you for infringement," Dick teases. At least he's feeling well enough to do that. This time, Midnight does not resist the urge to facepalm. When he returns from the bathroom, first aid kit in hand, Dick is lying flat on his back on the carpet. M sighs. There will be no scrubbing out the bloodstains now.

"Hi again," says Dick as M crouches down beside him.

"You're the stupidest kid I ever met," M grumbles. He pulls out a pair of scissors and begins to cut his pant leg off at the knee, so that he can access Dick's calf.

"Hey," Dick complains dully, hearing the snipping sounds. "I like these pants!"

"You want them off entirely?" M raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"M, honey, you didn't even buy me dinner first," Dick mumbles. His face is concerningly pale, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched in obvious pain.

"I'll buy you dinner after you buy me a new rug," M bargains, which seems to shut him up. When the fabric has been cut away from the wound, M is able to get a better look at it. There's an exit wound, which is a good thing--there will be no bullet removal necessary. Still, it looks like it has to hurt. 

M works in silence for a while. It's uncharacteristic for Dick to remain so quiet for such a long period of time, but then again, the guy's just been shot. M doesn't look at his face as he treats his leg--he doesn't want to see his expression, because Dick is the sort of person who wears his emotions on his sleeve. If M sees Dick's face, his expressive blue eyes, it'll be like looking straight through to his heart.

M doesn't want Dick's heart. He doesn't want anyone's.

Finally, as M is finishing up cleaning the wound and bandaging it, Dick breaks the silence. "It was one of the other agents," he says, bending his neck to make eye contact with M. M makes the mistake of allowing it, looking back into those stupid blue eyes, and, damn it, there it is. Dick's upset. Betrayed. M supposes anyone would be if their fellow agent shot them, though. "She was a traitor."

"Apparently," M scoffs, tearing his gaze away. "Can't trust spies."

He packs away all his medical supplies and walks over to the kitchen to wash his hands. He leaves Dick on the rug, and debates whether or not it's worth moving him to the couch. He doesn't want to ruin another piece of furniture, but then again, the dude's got a hole in his leg. And contrary to what some may believe, Midnighter _does_ know what compassion is. 

"I know you can't," Dick snaps. When M turns around, hands clean, Dick is sitting up, face pale. Sweat has matted strands of hair to his forehead, and M wants to brush them back. He doesn't.

He also doesn't help when Dick, bracing himself with one hand planted on the carpet, begins to slowly get to his feet. He grunts in pain when he puts weight on his injured leg. Out of nowhere, M wishes Dick had a healing factor like he does. He doesn't want to see him in pain. Doesn't want to look at him at all.

He lets Dick sit on the couch--his wound is bandaged, anyway, and he's heard Dick's a billionaire. He can afford to get M's couch cleaned, if need be.

M sits beside Dick and offers him a glass of water. Dick takes it and drinks gratefully. But the distraction is only momentary. Soon, Dick fixes his eyes on M's, and M forces himself to look back.

He looks so _unhappy._ It's in the tense set of his shoulders and jaw. The furrow of his eyebrows. Mostly, it's in his eyes. Wide and upset.

"I _know_ you can't trust spies," he says, sounding frustrated. "I--God, how can I forget it when every time I do I get shot or stabbed or punched in the face or something? I hate it. I hate them." Looking exhausted, Dick scrubs a hand across his face and through the damp strands of his hair.

"Why are you _here,_ then?" M asks harshly. "You could leave. No one's forcing you to be here."

Dick sends him a glare so glowering, so un-Grayson-like, that M actually leans back a little with the force of it. "You _know_ why," he spits, somehow managing to look even more upset than he did before. "I was unmasked on live television. There go both of my identities in one fell swoop, like, _poof!_ If I can't be Nightwing and I can't be Dick Grayson--"

"You can be someone else," M suggests roughly. "Change your name. Move to a different country."

"You don't get it." Dick pulls his hand away from his face to gaze at M through one eye. Abruptly, he turns so that he's facing M head-on, and beneath the force of that powerful gaze, M finds he's rooted to his seat. "I don't want to go somewhere else, or be someone else. I want to be Nightwing. I want to be _me."_ Voice cracking, he adds, "I want to go _home."_

M stares at him, at this gorgeous man he's never seen look so distressed. He's confused. Why would Dick be so attached to a dumpster fire like Gotham? Or Bludhaven, for that matter? In terms of physical location, Saint Hadrian's is about a dozen times nicer than either of them combined. Plus, with a job like Dick's as Agent 37, there's a lot of travel. M knows of Dick's circus origins--shouldn't he enjoy traveling? M does, personally. The idea of being rooted to one spot the way Dick had been in Gotham sounds deeply unpleasant. Then it hits him, and M wonders how he could have ever misunderstood. "You miss your family," he realizes, eyes widening slightly.

"They all think I'm dead," Dick admits in a guilty whisper

"I'm sorry," says M. He doesn't know what else there is to say--what else he can offer.

Dick doesn't respond to that. Just scoots closer to M. Fixes him with an intense gaze from those desperate, homesick eyes. Reaches one hand up to touch Midnighter's cheek, gently, like a caress. Then the grip tightens.

Dick kisses him.

For a moment, M loses himself in it. He's so incredibly, wildly attracted to this man, and he's been fantasizing about it for months, and now Dick's handed it to him on a silver platter. He wants to put his arms around Dick, to pull him in and keep on kissing him until he's laughing again.

But.

Midnighter may be what Dick wants--

But he isn't what Dick _needs._

And they both know that.

M puts a hand on Dick's chest to push him away, and finally, finally, M is the one to initiate the eye contact. He fixes Dick with a gaze of his own, one that's sympathetic and compassionate but hard and unyielding all the same. "Baby, I don't love you," Midnighter makes himself say. His voice comes out harsh and abrupt in the quiet of the apartment, and he forces himself to keep looking even as Dick's betrayal morphs into hurt and then steely anger. "You need someone who does."

"I don't need you to love me. I never asked you to," Dick snaps, turning away. "I just wanted someone I could _trust."_ M watches, pained, as the anger dwindles away into plain, simple anguish. M selfishly wishes he hadn't been the one to put it there. "I can trust you, right?" By the end, his voice is trembling, and it's so different from the Dick Grayson Midnighter knows. The confident one, bursting at the seams with laughter and _fun._

That's who Midnighter wants back. And he doesn't want to reject Dick a second time. Wants to pull him into his arms.

Instead, he stands. "You should never trust a spy," Midnighter decrees, "and that includes me. Door." A rectangular orange portal opens in the middle of M's sitting room. It opens up to Gotham City, where he knows Dick's family lives. The people who really do love him. "Go home, Grayson. You'll feel better."

Dick shakes his head, looking down at his lap. "M, I can't go home," he insists, sounding desperately sad about it. "Saint Hadrian's, please."

"Dick." M levels him with a glare. "You clearly _want_ to go home. You were crying all over me about it five minutes ago. Go _home."_

"I _can't,"_ Dick snaps, clenching his fists. "Okay? Don't you think I would have by now if I could?"

M grits his teeth; clenches his jaw. There's a moment of tense silence. 

"Fine," he snaps after a minute, when the tension in the atmosphere feels thick enough to cut with a knife. Something in him objects to this _strongly._ If Dick can't go home like he so dearly wants to he should stay here, in M's apartment, in his arms and his bed. But it's like he said. Dick wants someone who he can trust unconditionally. Who trusts _him_ in return. 

M can't be that person.

He closes the Door and opens a new one leading to Saint Hadrian's. "There," he says, voice flat with finality.

Dick stands on wobbly legs. "Thank you," he says finally, avoiding M's gaze.

He steps through the Door and is gone. M sits down heavily on the couch, apartment empty and silent and stained by Dick Grayson's blood. 

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please leave a kudos or a comment! Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated, as are suggestions or prompts! Thanks!
> 
> (also, I wrote this in one sitting and edited exactly 0% of it, so if you see any errors, feel free to point them out)


End file.
